Before the Storm
by KnightNight7203
Summary: "But if you could take the boys away from here – if you could go anywhere – where would it be?" In which Katherine and Jack discuss his dream of Santa Fe, so that she can be familiar with it for the scene at Medda's and in her father's office.


**I'm back! And I've brought a ton of (hopefully) great story ideas with me!**

**This one happened because I realized – it's almost like Katherine knew about Jack's dream of Santa Fe before the "Watch What Happens" reprise and before her father's office. Because she ridicules him for before the song and somehow told her father about it sometime before that scene. Which means they talked about it at some point. And I can't see either of them sleeping much the night before the strike so . . .**

**Thanks to all of my reviewers, and to the wondrous cast of Newsies who put on such a beautiful and emotion-evoking show that I was blessed to see on Tuesday night. You all keep me going!**

**Standard disclaimers apply. I own a ton more Newsies merchandise than I did a few days ago, but unfortunately still not the show or the characters or the actors. Sorry.**

* * *

Katherine hardly sleeps at all that night, tossing and turning and imagining the hundreds of ways the next day could play out. Finally unable to wait any longer, she dresses in the dark and makes her way out of her tiny flat. She makes one quick stop in the bakery down the street, and then starts on her way. After all, this is her big break, her first _real_ story. She can't risk missing any of the action.

The sun hasn't even started to rise yet, and the streetlights are still flickering overhead. Blowing on the warm doughnut in her hand as she walks, she's certain she's beat the others to Newsie Square by hours. However, as soon as she arrives, she sees the shadow of a boy pacing back and forth in front of the gate. His walk is full of nervous energy, and there's a crumpled newsboy hat clutched in his fist.

It's Jack.

"Hey, Plumber," he calls as soon as he sees her, giving her a little wave and that cocky smile she's already somehow familiar with. He smashes his hat back down on his messy hair and jogs over to meet her. "You're here early."

"So are you." She eyes him uncertainly – now that he's closer, his boyish face seems pale and drawn, like he didn't get much sleep. "Did you even go home last night?"

"Just to be by myself?" He winks at her, and she rolls her eyes. "Nah. I hung out around."

"Well that's silly," she scolds gently, shaking her head. "You of all people need your rest for today." Sighing, she moves closer to the gate, where she settles herself on the hard ground. If they're going to be there for awhile, they might as well be as close to comfortable as they can manage. Her skirts pillow out around her, and Jack steps carefully around the mass of fabric to perch on his heels by her side.

"So, Plumber?" he begins. Then he stops, his face scrunched in uncertainty. "Should I call you that?"

She raises an eyebrow at him. "As opposed to?" She's not familiar with the level of propriety the newsboys generally follow, but most of her acquaintances would never address a lady by her first name – or, indeed, without a title – until they had become much closer than this. Much closer than she ever intends to come to him.

"As opposed to your un-byline. Your– your real name."

Oh. "Yes, you can just call me Plumber," she smiles, impressed that he remembered that part of their conversation the previous night. She hadn't thought he'd really been paying attention to anything she said.

Jack nods seriously. "Otherwise I'll blow your cover. And your top-secret mission will be exposed."

She laughs outright now, enjoying his little game. "Something like that."

"I get you, Plumber," he says. "I get you. For all you know, Jack Kelly ain't my real name. I could be undercover too."

His eyes sparkle at her mischievously, and she nods her head with mock seriousness. She's willing to play – she's a reporter, so making up stories is second nature to informing on actual ones. "Of course. Otherwise they'll find you and cart you away to prison for your acts of civil disobedience to benefit the poor."

"Something like that," he repeats, though his smile now seems slightly forced. She shrugs it off and raises the doughnut, prepared to take a bite.

And notices him staring at it.

"Have you eaten?" she asks gently, unable to ignore his hungry stare. He shakes himself and meets her eyes, ready to brush off her question.

"Course I have," he says with a weak smile. Then his stomach makes a grievously insulted noise that disproves everything about his previous assurance.

She thrusts the pastry toward him, shaking her head. "You have this. I already ate."

"Then why'd you bring it?" he says doubtfully, eyebrow raised in skepticism. Apparently he's not afraid to call her on her charity.

"Just take it, Kelly," she growls. "I'm not hungry."

The noise her stomach in protest to that statement makes rivals his own.

Once he gets over his obvious wide-eyed shock at hearing such a sound from a _girl,_ he laughs and plucks the doughnut from her fingers. "Here," he says, ripping it neatly down the middle with nimble fingers. "We'll share. Okay?"

"If you say so," she says, scowling, but she takes it anyway.

They chew in silence for several minutes, just listening to the sounds of the city starting to wake up around them. Katherine can't tell if the lull in the conversation is awkward or not. Jack doesn't look uncomfortable, but then, maybe he just doesn't know what an acceptable exchange is and what isn't. Based on previous experience, she's actually quite sure he doesn't.

"It's still going to be awhile before anyone else gets here," she says finally, just to say something, eyeing the still-dark sky.

Jack's gaze doesn't leave her face. He swallows, and for a second she's convinced he's going to say something horribly suggestive and she's going to have to punch him and walk away. Then he sighs and falls back until he's leaning against the gate that keeps them out of Newsie Square.

"We could just talk, to pass time or somethin'," he murmurs finally.

"Okay." She has questions ready for this exact situation, of course, because if she didn't she wouldn't be Katherine Plumber of the _New York Sun_. She would be– but she doesn't even want to think about that. "So if you aren't selling papers so you can go to art school, then why?" she asks immediately.

He snorts in disbelief. "Some of us need money to eat, ya know." She frowns.

"I do know that. But you don't seem like someone who would stick around here just for that reason." Katherine's always prided herself in her ability to read people, and while Jack Kelly appears to be many things, a satisfied New Yorker is not one of them. She can see his distaste for the city in soot-streaked pallor of his face, balled up in his clenched fists, rolling off his tense shoulders.

"Just cause," he mutters. "What else could I– I ain't got nowhere else to go. Not now. I couldn't–"

"It's because of those boys, isn't it?" Katherine asks seriously, interrupting his uncertain mumbling. "It seems like you really care about them."

"They's my family," he says slowly. "Just because we ain't related by blood doesn't mean we ain't family."

"I can see that. Well, if it makes you feel any better, just because you are related by blood doesn't necessarily mean you are," she returns, slightly too bitterly but not at all sorry.

He looks her up and down in a way she feels somewhere deep in her stomach. She can feel his gaze lingering on her, and it makes her squirm. "Daddy troubles?" he says finally. It's hardly a question. Somehow, he's got to the bottom of all her problems with a single (albeit long) glance.

"You have no idea," she mutters.

He shrugs. "Well. You can't have everything. At least, not if you're at the bottom of the food chain in this city, like us."

It warms her heart how he's begun associating her with him and his boys. If only he knew– but no. "But if you could take the boys away from here – if you could go anywhere – where would it be?"

His response is immediate and one hundred percent confident. "Santa Fe."

"Oh?" She didn't necessarily expect that. "Why?"

He shrugs. "I dunno exactly. It's hard to put it in words. But – I've heard things get better there."

"Better how?" Personally, she's heard that the West was empty, desolate, and a huge drain on resources for all but the luckiest. Maybe Jack doesn't seem like he belonged in the middle of the city, but she can't exactly picture him so – so far away, either.

He sighs, a glazed look passing over his eyes. "You can see the stars at night, for one thing," he says. "The air's cleaner there, none of this stinking smoke and dirt."

"Just dust," she points out. He looks at her long enough to glare until she falls silent.

"If you ain't happy, you can literally just walk and find somewhere else to be. The land ain't full of rich bastards and poor nobodies, just families who want to help each other out. It's a chance to start over."

He trails off, looking down at his worn shoes. She feels a little sorry for him, this boy with so much responsibility piled on his shoulders and so many hardships evidently not far in his past.

"You might get there yet," she says, though for some reason the idea doesn't make her as happy as it seems to make him.

"You think?"

"Depending on how this goes, who knows?" she says brightly, trying to reassure him. "Anything could happen. Speaking of which – what _are_ you going to do."

"I dunno," he admits, looking vaguely troubled. "I didn't plan or nothing. It'll come to me." He grimaces. "I hope."

"Don't worry," she murmurs, touching his shoulder gently. "It'll work out."

"Sure hope so."

He forces himself to his feet, slowly and slightly painfully. Once standing he sticks out his hand for her to grab, but she's already kicked her skirts out of the way and stood as well. He retracts his hand, pulls his hat off his head, and runs his fingers through his hair – what she's starting to realize is a major nervous habit. His face is pale and his eyes are nervous. But she isn't worried, not even a little.

"Whatever you're going to do," she says, a smile starting to form on her face, "do it good."

He nods seriously, but his eyes are twinkling again. "Sure as hell gonna do my best."

"We've both got a lot riding on this, Kelly."

* * *

**Did you see what I did there with his name? I don't know if the whole Francis Sullivan subplot is technically a thing in the musicalverse or not. Personally, I don't like the name (nowhere near as attractive as Jack Kelly) and I'm not necessarily a fan of the character in the movie that it really represents anymore. But it appears briefly in the big program that's formatted like a newspaper, and it is a significant part of the movie, which I still do adore in different ways. So this is also a nod to that. Is Jack Kelly his real name? Is it not? That's up to you!**

**Reviews are confidence boosters, and more Aftermath is coming soon, I promise. If you have ideas or thoughts or hopes or dreams about what you want to see in that or anything else, just let me know!**

**Much love,  
KnightNight7203**


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